


Drink To Me

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Art, Blind Date, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: Date AU: I’m on a blind date and the guy/gal starts ranting about how “art isn’t a viable form of work, and how it’s not needed in schools” and you just walked up and schooled them while serving us our food order about how important art is in society, and left your number on my plate written in mustard.





	Drink To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I changed it just a little bit

The moment Whatshisface rolls his eyes in disgust is the only moment of the evening when Derek can understand why Erica thought they would be a good match.

Yes, eurgh indeed. Derek isn’t sure they are “eurghing” for the same thing, though.

The man is exuding “elitist” and “spoiled” from every pore, and though he could be seen as conventionally attractive, his personnality is quickly turning him into the ugliest of gargoyles in Derek’s eyes.

“Can you believe this?”

 _With extreme difficulty, if “this” refers to this date. “_ Hm?”

“This,” Snobby McSnotty says, pointing at the highlighted dish on the menu. “They want us to pay extra for a pizza under the pretext of supporting the neighborhood’s school Arts program.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Derek says, not only because he knows it will bring this sham of a date to a shorter shelf life, but also because, well, he does believe Arts in school are an important part of the social fabric and the way children grow into adults.

Exhibit A, Mr Douche in front of him who probably stayed in a corner for all of his art classes as a child.

“You’re playing cute,” Dumbass says with a smirk. “But we both know that Arts in schools are about as useful as a degree on a pretty girl, am I right?”

“Most definitely not.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl–”

“Derek.”

“Yes, right. Derek,” the man says, leaning forward as if trying to pull Derek into a confidential mood–as if–, “Art can be fun, sure, but it’s not, like, essential.”

“Ahem.”

Derek looks up and the first smile of the evening blossoms on his face at the sight of his waiter.

For starters, Mr. White Crisp Shirt pushes every button on Derek’s crush control panel.

For seconds, he is glaring daggers at Mr. Douchy Pants and that is almost enough to make him Derek’s best friend.

“We haven’t decided yet.” Jackass says to the waiter without even looking at him.

The waiter, whose name can’t possibly be what is written on his nametag–what kind of name is  _Stiles_ anyway–squints even harder.

“It will be just a moment, thank you,” Derek adds, trying to distance himself from his date’s behavior.

This softens Stiles’ demeanor a little, but he still scoffs at Jerkface’s back as he leaves them.

“Some manners won’t kill you, you know,” Derek says, his eyes firmly on the menu.

“I don’t have to, it’s his job.”

“Oh my God.”

“What? Like you’re such a posterchild for manners?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Jerkface snorts. “Right. So under all those muscles and glares, you’re telling me that there is a softie with a heart of gold, who frames children’s drawings and is polite to everybody?”

“I don’t see how one is incompatible with the other.” Derek tries really hard to control his temper. “And as a matter of fact, yes, I frame my nephews’ art to hang around my house.” He pauses to take a sip of his wine. “Not that you’ll get to see it or anything.”

Behind him, Derek swears he hears someone snorting and attempting to hide it under a cough. In front of him, Jerkface Supreme merely smirks. “Playing hard to get, uh?”

“Nope, predicting the end of the evening.”

“See, that’s why Arts are not useful to kids--nay, why it’s a bad influence.”

“Oh wow.”

“By giving a disproportionate place to Art, you developed a sense of superiority over other people.”

“Because that is not condescending at all.”

Derek agrees with that sentence, almost said it himself, but their waiter is back and is glaring at Douche McJerky.

“Who asked for your opinion?”

“No one, but that hasn’t stopped you, now, has it,” Stiles says, putting down a bottle of water and leaning over the table. “Now, whether you want to hear it or not, get ready for some knowledge being dropped into the void between your ears.”

“How dare--”

“Tut-tut,” Stiles cuts him, a finger pressed to his lips.

Derek leans back in his chair, glass of wine in hand as he pulls the mini plate of appetizers toward himself.  _This gonna be good_.

“First of all, asshole, art is important in school because it gives children an outlet, a way of getting rid of their anxiety, their surplus of emotions instead of resorting to violence.”

“B--”

“ _Second of all_ , art is important later in education because it allows for creativity, world building, all things useful in all aspects of life. It develops the brain in ways other curriculum cannot, and studies show that students engaged in arts perform better. Wouldn’t you like that, to perform better?”

Behind Stiles’ hand--and Derek does notice that it is a very nice hand indeed--DoucheCanoe glares and frowns, and turns a very unattractive shade of puce.

“Third of all, having regular Art classes help the children to develop their motor skills and their visual-spatial skills. It supports a critical view of the world, and helps them being prepared to tackle different points of view.”

“That’s rubbish,” Annoyance in Human Form says, pushing Stiles away before he can get to point number four, “and I demand to see your manager.”

Stiles pauses, and his lips slowly but surely stretch into a smirk.

A devilish smirk, the kind that sends delicious shivers down Derek’s spine.

“I am the manager.”

Oh this is priceless.

“What-but--you’re a kid.”

Stiles beams at him. “Why, thank you, I moisturize daily, and I have good genes. Now scram.”

Derek’s date opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, before snatching his jacket to storm out.

Stiles brushes his hands like he got rid of some particularly nasty vermin before turning to Derek, his smile turning apologetic and, dare he say it, shy.

“I am sorry I ruined your date, but it didn’t look like a very promising one.”

“You saved my evening,” Derek says with a crooked smile. “Did you have more fine points in favor of the arts?”

“I sure do.”

“Would you care to share them with me?”

Stiles’ cheeks turn a blotchy pink, from the high of his cheekbones to his neck. Derek kind of wants to follow it under Stiles’ crisp white shirt.

He blames the wine.

(It’s not the wine.)

“I--I’d love to.” Stiles waves at someone, another waiter who silently brings a large plate of pasta, covered in a red sauce that smells divine. “I’m Stiles, manager of this restaurant.”

Derek smiles. “I’m Derek, art teacher.”

Stiles’ laughter lasts for a while, enough to give Derek a need to see how this sound would feel against his skin.

(He finds out two weeks later.)


End file.
